Drunken Pine
by The Shipping Cap'n
Summary: (pre-falling out teens) Stan get's ditched by his "friends" drunk self pitying ensues (slight stancest in you squint honestly I don't remember how platonic I made this sound in the end anymore so go for it!)
Stan shuffled into his room, throwing his bag down angrily next to his bed before flopping down in a desk chair and cupping his face in his hands.

He'd been ditched _again_ by his so called "friends." Figures.

Of course these so called friends were actually just some guys on the wrestling team that he'd talked to once or twice. But he always tried to be positive when it came to people actually seeking him out for more than just scams and he'd hoped this would be different. A chance at friends. It wasn't.

They had a habit of inviting him to various events, of course he'd always say yes despite Ford's warnings. They'd always find an excuse to not be there either way. But hey, he tried right?

"Gah! I can't fucking believe I fell for it _again_!" The angry teen seethed, resting his head on the seat back and looking up at his stained ceiling. He could already just _hear_ Ford in his mind telling him that he'd _"told him so"_ and everything and he hated it.

Stan Pines conned other people sure, but he couldn't stand it when people pulled fast ones on him. Especially not like this.

Feeling his face burn at the thoughts cramming his spacious skull Stan stood, walking over to his cracked full-length mirror and giving himself a hard look. Imagining he was Ford as he often did nowadays that they had grown a bit more apart. It helped to look at that familiar face, and he knew his brother so well it wasn't hard to play the part.

"You shouldn't have gone out for them again Stan. I told you this would happen." Stan said to his reflection, looking disappointed and everything as he did so.

He threw his hands in his pockets, face burning more as he looked away from his "brother's" face and to the floor. "Look I know ok? But I thought things would be-"

"What? _Different_?" His reflection said, cutting himself off.

"Well yeah! I mean c'mon Sixer! Don't fucking grill me here I'm pissed enough as it is bro!"

"Right, right, I get that but what can you do Stan? You know very well that those ruffians have nothing better to do than this sort of thing. They already have their little click and they've made it very clear that you aren't apart of it. I just wish you'd stop doing this to yourself so I don't have to keep talking you down everytime this happens."

Stan sighed. Breaking character for a moment to just study his reflection.

It helped to talk to "Ford" like this. But it just wasn't the same. In the end what did it matter if it meant he was still misunderstood and alone?

He jumped slightly as he heard the front door open and then shut suddenly downstairs.

He listened carefully, not being smart enough to pass math without a struggle but keen enough to know the difference from his parents and his brother.

 _The door locked so it must be Ford. Ma and Pa don't give a shit about locking it 'till it gets dark._

Sure enough he soon heard his brother's tell-tale soft padding coming up the stairs rather than going to the fridge for beer like their father or out to the back porch to smoke like their mother.

He almost called out to Ford, a habit he was still having a hard time breaking.

 _Besides, what am I gonna do? Get chewed out and look like a loser in front of him again? I don't think so. Nah- I'm pissed and bored so I'll just-_

Stan waited for the sound of his brother's bags to hit the floor and for his "thinking" music to start playing before he went to his door. He gave the worn handle a quiet jiggle and pulled the door up slightly. Using a trick he learned for sneaking out silently rather than letting the sticky squeaking his shitty door often did signal he was home as well. He did a quick once over of his brother's room, feeling satisfied when he heard nothing but the music before turning and tip-toeing down the stairs. He leaped over the last two once he got towards the bottom as they also had a habit of making noise and shuffled with socked feet quietly to the fridge.

One thing about having a borderline alcoholic for a dad was that he was often so well hammered that he didn't notice when the fridge got emptied. His usually never sober mind only registering that he needed to go to a bar and feed the habit rather than assume anyone but himself took it.

He pulled the fridge open and smiled, seeing that his father had indeed recently stocked the fridge full from his last spree. Stan leaned behind the fridge, pulling a bag he'd stashed there a while ago free and filling it before sneaking back up to his room with the now bulging bag.

If he was spending yet another weekend alone he was at least going to make sure he had a damn good coping plan for the loneliness that came with it.

[A few hours later]

Well it worked. Stan was stone cold _drunk_.

He had layed on his bed quietly cracking can after can of cheap beer and downing them one after the other. Drowning his teenage angst being the only was he could see a good night anymore.

He leaned up clummsily, tipping the can to his beer stained mouth before tossing it to the side, realizing it was empty. Soon he was on the floor, all but crawling to the bag to check it's last remaining contents.

There were two cans left. He'd have to grab a bit more his drunk mind decided, not satisfied with calling it quits so early. He stumbled as quietly as he could to the door, forgetting to open it quietly as he dragged the bag behind him on the ground towards the fridge. As he got there he noticed a note he had previously missed stuck to the door, the messy yet cute writing of his stressed out mother staring at him.

 _'Going to be out late tonight. I got another fucking late shift and your dad is out at some bar again. If and when he comes home tell him to hit the couch for me huh? Love- Ma.'_

A chuckle huffed out of him as he tossed the note into the near-by waste bin.

 _So basically neither of them are gonna be here tonight. As usual._

He filled the bag again, grabbing a few more in his arms when the bag got too full, allowing his drunk mind to oggle the fact that his dad might really have a problem as he noted that the fridge still looked stocked as he turned to make his way back to his room.

He didn't notice Ford sitting at the counter as he left. Looking at him in silent shock as he sat frozen in mid-bite of a study session sandwhich.

He had made it through another beer when he heard the knock. Loud and insistent on his door.

Stan almost fell out of bed, choking on a mouthfull of his freshly opened can before calling out in a slurred "Y-yeah? Wh-urp-who issit?" He could barely make out the voice on the other side but it sounded like Ford's. He gave a sigh as he reassured himself it wasn't his parents.

"S-URP-ugh... S-sorry bro, what wassat?"

He heard a sigh then. Crisp and agitated from behind the door. He could practically see in the fog of his mind his twin pinching the bridge of his nose. He almost leaned back and kept drinking until he heard his brother speak again.

"Stan, I'm coming in now. You'd better be some form of decent in there."

Stan shot up like a rocket. Ignoring the lurch in his head and stomach as he looked at his floor littered with can after can.

"H-Hey! Wait a sec I uhm- I'M NAKED! Y-YEAH! TOTALLY-URRRRRRRRRP- N-NAKED IN HERE!"

"Stan, I know you're lying. I'm coming in _now_."

He tried to kick the cans away, his mind too far gone to realise that the door was already opening and that the noise of cans being knocked around didn't make him look anymore innocent.

There were only two things that could clear Stan's mind when he was like this. Money, and the feeling of his brother being near. Especially when he could feel his stare burning through his back.

"Oh Lord. _Stanley why_?"

He felt his face burn from more than the alcohol as he heard his brother's sad voice ring in his ears. He didn't want to face him like this. Hair a mess, eyes baggy, mouth stained with the stench and sight of the liquid he'd been chugging like air. He felt dirty and worthless when compared to Ford on a _good_ day. Now? He felt like absolute _trash_.

"S-Sorry Sixer. I just- I-I-!" Stan felt his chest heave the second he turned and saw Ford's dissapointed look, missing the concern also in his eyes as his skewed mind lurched.

He collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees in front of his twin. Heaving up a huge puddle of what could only be described as "beer-vomit" at this point.

He heard his brother say something that sounded like "Stanley!" Before he blacked out. falling limp in his own mess before his terrified brother. The last thing he saw being the puddle he fell in beneath him and the tip of one of his brother's shoes before all was dark.

[Later]

 _Oh God. Why do I feel like I'm a thousand pounds worth of ran-over meat? And why is it so fucking dark? Wait- Oh. My eyes are closed. Wow Stan old boy. You're fucking stupid. What even happened anyways?_

His vision returned to him slowly, his sight more akin to looking through thick fog as he cracked his eyes open slowly. He felt like he was in bed but something was off.

He tried to look to the side but his head swimming was enough to make him still in his actions and return to resting it on the pillows propping him up instead.

"Geez." He croaked out, cringing slightly at how gravely his voice sounded. "I'm pretty good at taking care of myself when I'm drunk I guess."

He cried out, shielding his eyes as an overhead light was suddenly turned on, blinding him and splitting his head open with a migrane.

"No actually. You're method of "care" was throwing up and passing out in it if I recall properly. By the way, blacking out in your own throw up can _kill_ you."

He craned his head as slowly as his headache could stand towards the voice. Finding his brother standing over him with his arms crossed. A miffed expression if any on his face.

"Oh uh. H-hey Sixer. Uhm... 'Sup?"

Ford gaped, mouth opening and closing in exasperation, staring him down unbelievingly.

"What's up?! That's what you have to say to me after nearly drowning in your own vomit in frot of me?! Forgive my French here Stanley but what in the _Hell_ did you think you were doing?! Sneaking around and getting beyond plastered on Father's alcohol like some- some- _deviant_?!"

Stan felt his fighter blood spike a bit as his still lingering buzz warmed the back of his mind. He sat up despite his body's protests and gave Ford a glare of his own.

"Sorry for bugging you brother. Didn't mean to ruin your prissy little study sesh!"

"I don't care about that you fool! I care about _you_. If I hadn't of come in when I did then who knows what would have happ-"

"Oh I know what would have happened!" Stan cut in, already knowing what his once close sibling was going to say. "I would have been _dead_ right!? So helpless that I can't even drink on my own without some kind of body gaurd huh? Well guess what _PointDexter_ this a'int the first time I've gotten stone cold drunk ok? This is common for me now- how's _that_ hitting ya?!"

Ford gaped at him- ready to retort when Stan stood. Realising that he was in his brother's clean room and blushing darkly in slight shame at the realization as he stumbled out angry at himself and his brother for how things had gone.

He walked back to his own room quickly. His nose already pre-cringing for the acrid smell of hurl that- never came?

His jaw slacked slightly as he stepped in and looked around his room in suprise.

The floor was cleaned thouroughly, not a can or stain in sight. His bed had also been straightened up and his beer bag had been removed.

"I get that you're angry at me for some reason. As I'm sure you can tell I'm not too happy with you either. But I still figured you'd want and _need_ your room cleaned eventually. Especially if you want this to stay away from Mother and Father." Came his brother's voice from behind him.

He turned, jaw still hanging slightly as he looked at Ford leaning against his still opened doorframe. Refusing to look at him as he turned his face to the stairs.

"S-Six... Ford... You? I mean. You cleaned for me? Why?"

His brother did look at him then. Stan's now clearer mind able to read the sad look in his more astute sibling's eyes rather than the disappointment that still lay there.

"Becasue we're twins Stanley. I'll always look out for you... I mean... You'd do the same for me right?"

He turned and left, feeling his own build up of emotions that both of them weren't ready for as he retreated back to his own room silently.

Stan felt tears prick his eyes, a small sad smile on his face. He knew this wasn't the last time they'd have confrontations like this. But it was a start to fixing them he figured.

Again he always had hope for this kind of thing. And he knew now his brother wouldn't treat him like the guys from wrestling.

Ford's question still rolled in his ears and mind, circling back and forth as his smile grew a bit and his tears fell. He already knew the answer. He had a feeling Ford did too.

But he still answered. He'd never ignore the _real_ Ford. His Sixer.

"Yeah."


End file.
